Towan absently spun one of his captured flags between his fingers as he leaned against a mossy tree. "So...let me get this straight," he said, eyebrow arched at Sylra. "You met up with Elliot, and he just—" he made a vague wandering gesture with his free hand, "—vanished when you blinked?"
Sylra's silver braid shimmered as she nodded once. "Yeah. Basically." Her tone carried the long-suffering patience of someone accustomed to Elliot's antics.
Then—
-CLASH-
The sound ripped through the forest like the sky itself had cracked open. Not just noise—a physical vibration that made the flags at Towan's belt tremble. Distant trees shuddered, sending down a rain of startled leaves.
Professor Khalvar's head snapped toward the sound, his cloak whipping around him as if caught in the shockwave. "That'll be them," he barked, already striding forward. His voice carried the weight of experience—only four students remained unaccounted for, and that thunder could only mean one kind of confrontation.
Towan and Sylra exchanged a glance—one part exasperation, two parts concern—before moving as one toward the epicenter, their footsteps crunching over twigs still smoking with residual energy.
The narrowing path reeked of charred wood and crackling energy, each step pressing the acrid scent deeper into their lungs. Towan's pace quickened, his bootfalls matching the drumbeat of his thoughts. (Of course Elliot picked the flashiest lightning rod in the forest to brawl with...)
Sylra glided beside him—her movement so fluid it seemed the earth itself shifted to accommodate her. The wind parted her cloak like stage curtains, revealing the silver-hilted dagger at her hip.
"Think he's losing?" The question danced between jest and genuine concern.
Towan's silence stretched for three heartbeats before he answered: "He wouldn't let himself." The words carried the weight of a thousand sparring sessions, of bloody noses and shared victories. Not blind faith—earned certainty.
They breached the ridge together—and froze.
The clearing looked like the gods had held a thunderstorm at knifepoint. Trees stood splintered at unnatural angles. The earth bore blackened scars where lightning had struck repeatedly. The very air tasted metallic, thick with the aftermath of unleashed power.
At ground zero:
Jyn slumped against a lightning-struck oak, each labored breath sending fresh sparks skittering from his wounds. His once-blinding aura now guttered like a candle in the wind.
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Elliot swayed on his feet—jaw purpling, split lip painting his chin crimson—yet his grin burned brighter than any injury. That damnable, reckless smile that said worth every second.
Towan exhaled through his teeth. "Remind me never to piss him off again."
Professor Khalvar materialized from the smoke, his arrival stirring up ghostly plumes of ash. His assessing gaze—sharp as a whetstone—lingered on Elliot longer than protocol demanded. "That's enough." The words rang with the finality of a gavel strike. "This trial is over."
As teachers spirited the combatants away, Towan found himself standing with Sylra and Khalvar in the ruins of their battle.
"Why are you here?" The professor's voice rasped like boots on gravel.
"Oh well..." Towan scratched his neck, eyes tracking the path to the infirmary. "Wanted to see what trouble my brother found this time."
"Curiosity," Sylra admitted, her fingers tracing the splintered bark of a nearby tree. "About how this dance would end."
Khalvar studied them—really studied them—seeing beyond the nonchalance to the hunger beneath. (This year's entrants... not just students. Warriors in the making.) His gaze slid to the darkening forest. "Two students remain unaccounted for."
Towan followed his sightline, stomach tightening. (Len and Sera... They better not be trying to kill each other.) The thought landed with the weight of a stone in still water.
The forest held its breath in that peculiar stillness that exists only between day and night - not the charged silence before battle, but the quiet exhaustion after the storm has spent its fury. The fading light gilded the pond's surface in liquid gold, so perfect even the breeze hesitated to disturb it.
Sera perched on a sun-warmed stone like some wayward forest spirit, bare feet tracing idle circles in the water. For once, her ever-present daggers remained sheathed, the silver hilts catching the light where they lay beside her. This quiet between them wasn't comfortable exactly - but it was real, in a way few things were.
Len sat with uncharacteristic looseness, her usual noble posture abandoned. The cuffs of her sleeves bore the crumpled evidence of earlier distress, the fabric still twisted from white-knuckled gripping. The fight had bled out of her, leaving something quieter in its wake.
"Everyone else is probably still brawling," Sera mused, flicking a pebble with precise nonchalance. Plink. The sound rippled outward, breaking the mirrored surface. "And here we are. I bet Towan believes we’re killing each other."
Len's eyebrows lifted slightly. "He thinks we're fighting?"
"Oh, absolutely." Sera's smirk was all sharp edges and mischief. "Right now he's probably imagining us uprooting entire oaks to chuck at each other."
The laugh escaped Len before she could school her features - just a soft exhale through the nose, but it carried the weight of something fragile being set free.
Sera glanced sideways at her - not with her usual mocking glee, but with something quieter. Assessing.
"You feeling better?"
Len studied her reflection in the disturbed water. A beat. Then a single nod. "Still embarrassed."
"You cried," Sera said with her trademark bluntness. "And I let you. So we're even."
The pond's surface gradually stilled, capturing their silhouettes side by side.
Len shifted, the words forming slowly. "I... don't think I ever expected this from you."
Sera didn't turn. Her gaze remained fixed on the emerging moon's reflection, its pale light fracturing where their legs disturbed the water. "That makes two of us."
The moment stretched - two girls from worlds that should never have touched, their armor cracked in different places but their spines unbent.
Then -
Sera produced a small velvet pouch with a magpie's flourish. "Want to split a dried plum? Stole it from a teacher."
Len's nose wrinkled. "...That's gross."
"Suit yourself." Sera popped one in her mouth, grinning at the sky. "More for me."